Bite Size
by SufferingThePretences
Summary: A bunch of IZ one-shots. some are angst, some are ZADR-ish, and some are weird. READ! rated T for later chapters.
1. Enthralled

A/N: Got bored. Chapter one was enspired by me looking at a camera, and chapter two was inspired by a coughing fit. xD  
Please review? *sad kitty eyes*

It was confusing, intriguing, puzzling, strange, and above all--unsettling. It didn't make any sense. At all. At least, to me it didn't make sense. You might be different.

I'd gotten a few cameras on his base level, in conveniant areas, and whenever I wasn't stalking him relentlessly, I was watching and studying him through the cameras. Of course, that might be the same thing as stalking...I'll look it up later.

It was odd.

Earth technology is far behind Irken technology--obviously, but it can't be because Zim is simply to inept to notice the cameras hidden in his house. Because the oddest thing happened not too long ago. It wasn't anything big--like a giant squid attacking him, or anything--and it wasn't extremely small. If it had been something very small, I wouldn't have payed it any mind. No, no, it was odd.

And it enthrailed me.

I remember it like it was yesterday, because it was--in fact!--yesterday. GIR had stumbled upon one of my cameras on accident, and as I was cursing his name, he had been dancing....

-------

GIR was hula-dancing in front of my 'hidden' camera.

"No! no! NO!" I shouted, both of my hands grasping the sides of my computer. The small square he was in showed him do a turn-around in his stupid dog costume, wearing a grass skirt. The damn thing was swishing it's hips from side to side, now and then waving at the camera. My camera. I pounded a fist on my desk. He would ruin everything!

Just as I thought, Zim walked up next to him, seemingly lost in thought. He blinked, staring at the small robot before noticing the camera I'd hidden in the corner of the room, slightly covered by a few wires.

"What's that?" He'd asked, pointing at me, and I'd cringed inwardly. this was it! He would find out about the cameras and take them down! Damn! It had taken so long to put them up! So many break-ins, so many lazers, so many cuts!

"A camera," GIR said, waving at me from his spot on the ground, and then twirling around in his grass skirt. Zim glared up at me.

"How did it get there?" He asked, his voice angry, yet remote. My heart sped up. Don't take the cameras down. Don't take the cameras down. Don't take the cameras down!

"I dunno!" the robot chirped happily, swishing again. I slammed my head against the desk. It was all over!

But, "Indeed," was all Zim said, staring with interest up at me. I stared back, though he didn't know it, my breathing frozen. He then walked away, seeming to return to the train of thought he'd been in before GIR had arroused him from it. I stare after him in shock, and then simply stared at the screen, unseeing.

-------

It had fascinated me.

Did he not care that there was a camera in his own home? He didn't even bother to put on his disguise!

The screen blinks, a message popping up. The hard-drive I'm recording this on is full. I sigh, turning around to take the small cartrage out. The tiny square sits in my hand, almost weightless as I replace it with another. I then head to the garage.

I pass the mailbox, and hesitate. all I'd have to do is send it in to Mysterious Mysteries, and that would be that! They'd see the proof I have! The small cartridge contains over a week's footage. But I pause.

What was he thinking about?

I frown, and take the tiny square to the garage, depositing it into a box labeled: PROOF! in bold letters. I'd just watch long enough to see what his problem is. Yeah. Just a little longer, then I'd send all of my evidence in.

Yeah...just a little longer.

At least that's what I keep telling myself. The truth is, Zim is interesting. He intrigues me, he confuses me, at times he's puzzling to me. He's strange, and baffling. He makes me think.

The truth is...I'm enthrailed by him.


	2. Bubbling

Did I really forget all my stuff for the first part? D8

Disclaimer: DON'T OWN INVADER ZIM! DX DON'T SUE MEH!!

So annoying, so annoying. In the back of my throat.

It's something you can't see, but you can feel. It's there, but you don't know how it got there, or how it originated in the first place. Something itching to come out everytime I see that disgusting face walking by. Itching to be screamed everytime something he says sends that silent alarm in my head off. Itching, itching, itching.

Until I have to suddenly start coughing, coughing so loud, and so painfully. It hurts my throat--makes it raw.

But it has to be done, it has to be done to prevent that THING from bubbling up my throat and spewed out my mouth. It has to be done. It has to be done. It has to be done.

I have to do it, I have to get it out, but no. It can't be done. Impossible. Impossible.

So obsessing over it, every waking minute until I start coughing again, nagging in the back of my skull. I start coughing to hide the bubbles I don't want to ever, ever, ever, ever reach my mouth. If they come out, if they come out.

I've done it before, I've done it before.

I've stayed up, and walking around late at night, repeating the words over and over to myself, trying to hide in my haven of denile. To convince myself they're true. Please be true, please be true, please be true. Please.

But denile only lasts so long, and it's itching and bubbling there, ready to burst out of my mouth.

Everything he says. Everything he does.

Please be true, please be true, please be true.

I hate you, I really do. Please be true. Please don't make this be true. Be a lie. Be a lie, lie, lie. Don't be my truth, don't be what I want it to be, please go back. Don't be what I think it is. Don't be what I never wanted to feel. Don't be. Don't be. Don't be. Please be a lie, a twist of reality, a simple mistake. Be the smudge on someone's name that makes everyone think they're someone else on paper. But don't be that, don't be that, don't be that. Please be true.

Please be a lie.

I've done it before, I've done it before....

I've stayed out, walking about, I've stayed up in my lab, listening to my voice. Say it again, make me believe it's true. I do. But it isn't, it isn't true. No matter how I try to convince myself, it just can't be true. It's a lie, and I want it to be a lie. No, I don't. Please, please be true. It's scary to think of. It's worse than anything I've ever had to face before. I want so bad for it to be true.

Because it's familiar.

Because it should be true.

Because that's what everyone thinks of me.

Because if it's a lie, I don't deserve what I don't want to feel.

I don't deserve this, yet I do. I do because all the crap I've been through in my long, long, long, long life might be able to be undone. But it's scary. And it's bubbling up. It's bubbling up in my throat, sending an icy sensation through my stomach when I say that lie to his face. That lie, that lie, that lie. I hate that lie. I need that lie. I want that lie to be true. Want it so much.

I hate you. I do, I do, I do....

I've said it so many times to myself, said it to his still frame picture that I stole from his residence. I want it to be true, but I can't make it true. No matter how many times I say it, it sounds so empty to my own ears. Without him there...the lie...it holds no substance. And it isn't true.

The itching, itching, itching is inching up my throat. I can't do it, I can't. It has to be done. It has to be done. But that's impossible. Because no matter how big a lie it is to me, it's true to him. It's true to him, and it will never be anything else.

Because I hate you, I really do.

But his picture never says anything back, and that's okay. I need to believe it. I need to believe it, because telling him would bring me nothing but pain. I want the lie, need the lie, need it so much.

But it burns my throat to say it. It chills my stomach to say it. I hate it. I hate the lie, but I need the lie. If I didn't have the lie I would be stripped of the one thing I have left, the one thing that is mine. The one thing no one can take from me. It's always a constant, and it must remain a constant, or I swear to 'God' I will fall apart. I will collapse in on myself.

Maybe I need the negative attention. Maybe I'm already so fucked up and so dilluded into thinking that negative is positive that I need the hate. If the hate were ever gone I would fold up until I was no more. I would break. I need the hate.

I need the hate but I don't want it. I don't, I don't, I don't....

I hate you, I hate you....

But it sounds so false, and the words bubble on my lips, coming out finally to his picture, and I sob. I sob, I cry, my middle aching as I repeat the truth over and over and over. I claw at my throat until it feels raw and fresh blood is on my hands, but the words come out anyway. The bubbling stops, but I repeat the phrase over and over, tracing his face in the picture over and over.

Over and over and over and over and over....

I want it back.

I want it back, I want it back, I want it back...

But it can't come back. I hold onto the picture for dear life, and I know I won't be able to say the lie to his face again. I won't, I can't, I hate the lie.

I want the lie.

I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm so fucking scared.

I know when I see him it will bubble up again, and I will feel that itch-itch-itching in the back of my throat, working it's way to my lips. The heat I will feel on my tounge as I say it, the warmth in my chest, the feeling of need.

And then I will crumble, and then I will break. He will be gone, because negative is positive, and he won't want me. He won't, he won't.

Blood drips onto his fake smile in the picture as he looks back at me.

I feel it itching, my chest hollow, and my stomach burning. It rushes up my throat, and I start coughing. I start coughing, spraying blood over his fake-smile face.

What have you done?

I'm so scared, I'm so scared. I'm fucked up, I'm so terrified.

And I don't hate you...I don't, I don't, I don't...I can't....

I'm going to break. I know I will. I'm going to smash into millions of millions of millions of peices.

Because it was familiar. I'm venturing too far into the unknown. Too far, too far, too far too fast.

I'm so terrified...

I'm so lost...

I'm so confused...

And I don't hate you...

I don't hate you...

But you hate me....

A/N: Wow, so angsty. D8

Review, please! .3.


	3. Device?

A.N: On no...not AGAIN!!

Oh...but it IS!!! Mwahahahahahahahaaaa! Yes, another installment of Bite Size! Wewt! x3 Hopefully you guys get a kick out of this one, I know I did when I thought of it. ;3

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: VEGETA!WHAT DOES THE SCOUTER SAY ABOUT THE OWNER OF INVADER ZIM?!?

IT BELONGS TO JOHNEN VASQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZ!

YEAH! NOT THIS GIRL!

"Okay, you're gonna have to help me out on this one," Dib said, trying to understand the picture in front of him. It wasn't really a picture, it was Zim's new...plan.

"What's not to get?" Zim asked, walking towards the Hi Skool.

"I just really don't get...that," He said, pointing to Zim's head, which would usually be adorned with his cruddy wig...however...today...

"What?" Zim asked, growing annoyed.

"That HAT, Zim! The HAT!" Dib said, grabbing it off of Zim's head. It was, in fact, an over-extravigant purple hat, much too big for Zim. It was extremely huge, and lacked the 'shape' of a normal hat. Being that it was simply a large lumpy _thing_ that had a pink stripe around a small part of it. It explained to someone, it might_ look_like a hat...maybe. Zim immediately snatched it back, placing it on over his wig.

"What's wrong with it? It's a very useful hat," he said ominously as they grew closer to the skool. Dib sighed.

"It's just...that thing...what--I mean...ugh! Just--just take it OFF!" he finally shouted, grabbing for the damn thing once again. However, this time Zim was prepared, and slapped Dib's hand away.

"If you MUST know, it's a mind-controlling device," Zim said very mater-of-factly as they reached the skool grounds. The mind-controlling-device-in- question earned a few odd looks from any students passing the duo by.

"A mind-controlling device," Dib said flatly.

"Yes."

"As in; something that can influence another's decision or behavior by sending a wave--"

"YES, Dib!"

"..._Really_?"

"Ugh--what is so hard to GET about this, Human?!" Zim yelled in frustration as they slowed to a stop just outside of the skool doors.

"I'm sorry, Zim, but this plan seems...really stupid. Just...just _really_ _really_stupid," Dib said, his eyes still glued to the large purple hat.

"Then obviously you can't understand the GENIUS of the=is very amazing plan..." Zim said, wandering through the doors, Dib trailing behind, his eyes still glued to the purple lump on Zim's head--as others' eyes were too. Zim cackled quietly to himself. Humans are so simple...so predictable.

Something doesn't have to really DO anything, if you put the thought into a human's mind that it just MIGHT do something, than it automatically gains that ability. Like the hat. He'd actually just lost a bet to GIR, and had to wear it throughout the day. Of course, he was an invader of his word.... Zim had just thought up the mind-controlling excuse off the top of his head.

However, it had an interesting effect on the human-meats around him. He cackled again, tapping his fingers together in a scheming sort of way.

Well...this might prove to be fun.

A/N: Pretty short--but I liked it ending this way.

Again--your reviews make me swim with the happiness of a thousand giant galaxies. 8D  
And...I eat 'em...so...yeah... REVIEW!

Until Next Time! SufferingThePretences - Signing Off!


	4. Denile

A/N: Okay, so I was really getting in to writing up tragedies, and I thought this one up. It has to do with the inevitability of age.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't. Own. ANYTHIIIING!! x3

Warning: Very depressing. D8

The boy, who was no longer a boy, lay in his bed, long since defeated. Shadows spilled over the room, casting an eerie darkness about everything, and making it almost impossible to see anything. The old boy's lover sat on a stool, that had been pulled up to the bed hours before. The only sound was the very faint breathing of the old boy in the bed, and the strong, heavy breathing from the figure on the stool.

"So..." The strong, ringing voice of the form on the stool came out of the silence, "This...is where it finally ends, huh...Dib-hu--Dib?" An almost-insult was spared, and the shadows were still. There was only the sound of the pair breathing for a moment--one, strong and fit, the other, weak and strained. Then, almost impossibly, a laugh.

The laugh was so faint, and so out of place, that there was even more silence. It was as if the stillness itself were appreciating the novelty of this moment as the figure in the bed whispered, barely audible, to the form on the stool.

"Yeah...Yeah, I guess...it is...Zim..." The old boy--Dib--responded, his voice raspy. It had an airy quality to it, a rare quality that was only found in those on their deathbeds. Those that have lived a full life. The figure on the stool--Zim--was shocked into silence. The human seemed to be...giving in. But--no! There was still--

"The offer...it...it still stands, you know?" Was that hope, that rose up in the invader's spirit? Hope, that rose into his speech; into his voice? Zim suddenly felt very much like a human at that moment. Loss...it was an interesting emotion.... He felt extremely like he was on the edge of tears, his throat was oddly dry, and something heavy seemed to be weighing on his chest. He knew what Dib's answer would be before he even parted those old, wrinkled lips.

"No, Zim...no...I...I was human...while I lived...I...will die...a...hu...man," the voice grew fainter and fainter. It was almost like the interesting pair were talking on cell phones...each getting farther and farther from the other...even though they were still in the same room. Zim clenched his hands, as if trying to grasp time--stop it from passing. Or maybe he was just simply frustrated with the human's stubbornness.

"But you would still BE a human!" Zim exclaimed, his eyes shooting to Dib's shadowed face, that was in the very dim light. Dib looked like a raisin, or a flower that had been dehydrated. He looked weak, fragile. it was almost like Zim's very touch would shatter him. Humans...they grew so very brittle over time...and Zim was so afraid the human would break with any form of contact that he didn't dare touch him. The alien leaned forward into the only light that was streaming in through a crack in the blinds.

There were lines on his face as well, but much less than Dib's. He was six feet tall, and the only lines on his face just barely hinted the fact that he too was aging. Just much...much slower than the human, "You...You would live as long as me! It would even restore your cells and strength! You would still be human! ...Dib...." the alien's voice died away, sensing defeat. His antennae drooped in response.

"How very...typical," Dib weakly chuckled, "You...pro...voking me...to a...fight...in our last mo...ments...to...ge...ther..." his voice trailed off, and for a terrible moment, Zim thought he had died. He felt as if his chest had burst into flame and begun ripping apart until he saw the familiar smirk on Dib's shriveled face.

Dib moved to sit up, and Zim helped him, being extremely careful with his human. His own ruby eyes held Dib's twinkling amber ones. His eyes were the only thing about Dib that had not gone through any form of transformation. They still held that defiant spark--that fire...that would die with Dib.

A very wrinkled and soft hand layed on one of the Irken's, and Zim closed his eyes, taking the hand. He leaned forward slowly until his forhead was leaning against Dib's.

"You know I don't...want...that..." Dib's voice was like a sigh, a gentle exhaling of air. His bra=eath tickled against Zim'e face, and the invader felt tears prickle against his tightly shut eyes.

"I know," he murmured, opening his eyes to stare into Dib's, "No, you want to leave me here," his voice was flat, and he was careful not to let it show just how badly this was hurting him, "on this revolting pit of a planet alone...knowing that I can't return to my old one." To his surprise, Dib chuckled defiantly. Tears were leaking out of Zim's eyes against his will.

"When you...say any...thing...like..._that_...of...course...it sounds..._bad_..."the last word was whispered, as if it took a tremendous amount of effort merely to talk. He slowly became limp, laying himself back down against his many pillows.

Zim stayed where he was, as if Dib had never moved away from him. The humans hand became limp. The invader stared, horrified, down at Dib. But there was still a shallow breathing coming from his form. Zim's eyes shot from Dib's open mouth, to his gaze, which was gaining a milky quality. The light seemed to be leaving him right before the alen's eyes.

But it couldn't be over! It COULDN'T! Would he now have to go on...alone? It seemed impossible. He still had so much time left, and now he would be alone all because Dib wanted to die in a normal way...in a _human_ way....

"I want...you to live...for...me...Zim...don'...t take...the eas...y way...ouy...just for...me..." Dib was saying. Very quietly, a part of Zim died with those words. He didn't make a sound, but Dib seemed to be waiting for an answer.

Words failing him, he merely nodded.

"I'm...a litt...le... scar...ed..." came Dib's weak whisper, quavering with child-like fears, "will...will you...meet me? Wher...ever...I'm...go...ing?" he asked, his aged face looking afraid. Zim stared, his silent tears still rolling down his face. Would he be aloud a human afterlife? It didn't matter. Whether or not he would or not, the answer Zim gave couldn't have possibly been any different. Not when Dib was like this.

"Yes," he whispered, gripping Dib's hand tighter. The fear slipped from Dib's face, and he looked...sure. His eyes got a far away look, and then, all too soon, Dib's eyes went blank. Devoid of all emotion.

"D-dib?" Zim asked shakily, finding his voice too late. No response. He sat there, cemented to the spot. Dib's eyes were dark, a clean slate of nothing. A dry sob came from somewhere before something snapped inside Zim.

He started laughing.

He laughed so loud and for so long, his voice was hoarse. His one and only enemy's flame was finally extinguished! Zim is truly amazing! ZIM TRIUMPHS OVER ALL! His throat oddly bone dry, he laughed and laughed. Maniacally and insanely. Then...slowly...horribly, they turned to gut-wrenching sobs. They rasped from his throat hoarsly and enveloped the silence completely. His hand was crushing Dib's.

Yes...his only enemy was dead...but so was his only friend...his only lover....

'Until next time,' the words rang through his head as if he himself had said them. As if he should have said them to Dib.... And Dib wanted him to live....

How was he supposed to live?

He suddenly wished very much that this hadn't happened, that Dib was merely faking, and would suddenly say something like, 'Fooled you, Zim!' and pull off some human mask and be his old self again. And then he would accept Zim's offer, and they would live together for as long as they could. He convinced himself this so thoroughly, that he almost expected it to happen when he turned his bleary gaze on the unmoving Dib.

But then he saw how broken Dib's hand was.

The End!

So, what d'you guys think? Review, please! xP I SURVIVE off of your reviews! D8

Until next time! SufferingThePretences - Signing Off!


	5. Faded

_A/N: Inspiration slammed into me like a bull! 8D Hope you enjoy this quick one-shot! x3_

_Disclaimer: Don't own IZ_

A camera is hanging from a still-standing metal pole. It is pointing at a book, as if it had been nearly broken, and had fallen halfway. It looks as if it had been pointed at the book on accident.

The pages are bent in many places, most of the corners creased. A surplus of pages have simply been taped back in, as if the book had been read so many times they had fallen out. The spine is bent in three places, and so worn some of the paper is ripping on the covers. Half of the pages are frayed, the other half water-logged, as if the book had had something spilt on it, or had been dropped in a puddle. It is an old book, that is obvious. Whoever had owned it obviously had had it for ages. It looks very abused. The color of the pages is yellow, and many notes have been scribbled on blank areas of paper.

Some are dates, some are quick little notes about U.F.O.s, or vampires. They are all written in a quick scrawl, as if in a hurry. Half of what is written is hardly even legible. Some isn't. The ink is so faded the had writing doesn't matter anyway.

However, more than anything else mentioned on the margins--notes about things not to forget, dates of movies coming out, recent U.F.O. sightings--is a name. The name is written so many times, that it looks almost exactly the same wherever it is written, as if it had been typed out in that untidy writing.

The name is Zim.

Many things have been written on the back cover, and all over the book about the person named 'Zim,' but there is never anything explaining who he or she was. Just things like, 'Zim at McM's; 3:00; ambush!' The boy or girl who wrote the notes never mentions their self.

The book is a textbook, titled: 'Mysteries of Space: All about the Universe' a subtitle reads: 'Are we alone?'

...

All around the book is wreckage. It is sitting in a pile of dirt, half covered and open. Everywhere you can possibly look is broken-down. There are the ruins of a society, all sitting; forgotten. No evidence of life is anywhere. The memory of a cement floor is sitting in pieces around the book's resting place, pieces of metal and jagged pieces of glass or wood are scattered around the street.

...

Down the street a ways is a cull-da-sac. It looks like it used to be quaint: bricks and wood and glass everywhere. A very peculiar house is sitting at the very end, right in between the wreckage of what looks like what used to be apartment buildings, or very boring houses.

The house is lopsided, and bright green blue. Most of the windows are cracked, where plants seem to have forced there way through. Vines are growing everywhere, enveloping everything. The yard is almost indistinguishable from the bottom of the house. The door lays open, having been forced through.

...

Inside is much worse. Furniture is tipped over, and there are signs of an ancient struggle. A robot, it's eye lenses cracked, but still very functional is sitting on the overturned couch, staring at the blank, broken TV screen. It doesn't speak. It doesn't move. It sits, as if it is waiting for something.

Occasionally, a disembodied voice will say something--skip, and then repeat what it's said. Then it will remain silent for a few moments, say something--skip, and repeat. Speak--skip, repeat. The words are the same, but unrecognisable, as if they are in some foreign language.

Inside the kitchen, the table is on its side. A trash can is tipped over, revealing a tunnel into the earth's surface. Ancient claw marks are on the ground, as if something had been dragged into the depths once. It is dark down the tunnel, except for a flickering light.

...

The tunnel is a tube, leading into a very broken-looking lab. It is cracked, and looks in disrepair, just as everything else does. The lab is even worse than the living room and kitchen. Electronics are strewn everywhere, wires stick out of the walls, and computer pieces lay strewn about.

Further in is the skeleton of a human. It is about six-foot tall, and is wearing a very baggy trench coat over baggy black jeans and a navy blue t-shirt with a face on the front. It has black hair that is extremely long, worn in a scythe lock. It looks like it continued to grow after the boy or man died, until there were no dead skin cells left.

Very old, dry blood is everywhere, staining everything.

A large screen is on the opposite wall, a chair in front of it. This is the only area that seems to be working. Everywhere else is pitch black. The skeleton of something that does not look human is halfway across the floor, as if it had tried to drag itself to the monitor. A trail of very dried blood is behind it, leading back to where the boy's skeleton lay.

The skelaton of the inhuman thing seems almost gone, as if it was made up of something not bone, very large eye holes suggest enourmous eyes. It is definately not human. Hollow antennae sprout from its head.

On the flickering screen, a message keeps replaying itself, as if the entire house is on a glitch. The end of the message replays itself over and over.

The figures, one purple, the other red, each clearly not human, are talking in another language. What they are saying can't be discerned, but they look shocked, amused, shocked, amused, shocked, amused, over and over in a never-ending cycle. The light is dim, as if it has been replaying for a very long time.

All is silent besides the house and the message that keeps replaying over and over.

...

Everywhere else is deserted. None will go near the town, fearing radioactive poisoning. A large explosion must have occurred, for the area was condemned long ago.

But, in other places, life goes on as if the skelatons in the lab did not exist. As if the nameless town that had been struck from the maps had never been built. Life continues as if the struggle in the strange, blue-green house had never happened.

People laugh, people smile, people sing, and the dead merely rot.

...

The dirt on the book is blown off little by little in a large wind. A few pages flip. The entire population of this area has been wiped off the face of the planet without so much as an acknowledgement by the rest of the race. As if the little city near New York had never existed, all the lives gone meaningless.

The ink on the pages is fading while it is exposed un-protected to the elements.

Soon there will be no writing to speak of.

End.

_Ominous, yeah? o-o_

_I got the idea from looking at a particularly old fanfiction of mine. The writing was so faded I could hardly read it._

_Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed! ;3_

_R&R! I survive by eating your reviews! =D (is that weird?)_

_Until next time! SufferingThePretences - Signing Off!_


	6. Therapy for the Therapist

**MAN, do I owe you guys some stories. Well, I hope this is okay for now--I plan on updating some other stuff too. *nods in a very wise and knowing way***

**This one seemed like a fun idea. I'm debating about whether or not to incorporate this somehow into a one-shot chapter story.  
I'll think about it.**

**Light hints at ZADR; reference (hidden!) to Stephen King's Mr. Murder. Let's see if someone can pick it out.  
**

**Anyway--here you go!**

* * *

**THERAPY FOR THE THEREAPIST**

"All he talks about is some weird kid! I have no idea how to get through to him, everything I try fails! And if I even _suggest_ even give the _tiniest_ hint that he might like this kid, he completely freaks out and starts yelling at me!"

"Oh, honey, just keep trying! You've never failed before!"

"God, hon, I think I've actually found an impossible case."

The therapist was in his office, speaking to his wife over the phone and trying to enjoy the view from his window. It had taken approximately three months to finally convince his boss to move him out of his dreary office on the first floor to this one, on the tenth. The view from his window was a spectacular one that masked the grimy city below him in that of elegance. Especially on a cold night. The lighting especially created a nice and comfortable mood for someof his clinically depressed patients.

The switch itself had been quick, seeing as he had had little things in his smaller office below him. However, it had been a very confusing change for many of his clients. Some of them had even had a fit when they couldn't find his new office; the whole thing was just a troublesome ordeal, especially since he dealt mostly with the clinically insane. His latest case, whom he was currently complaining about to his wife--who was a successful mystery novelist and worked mostly from home--had been the only one who had had absolutely no trouble at all with the switch.

Despite many assurances and claims that the boy was insane, the therapist had to wonder. All the boy seemed to be expressing was a need for companionship--which he seemed to fill with mysteries about the supernatural--and an emotional imbalance possibly caused by a very traumatic experience. At first, the therapist had been prepared to recommend that the boy find a friend, but he hadn't gotten a word in edgewise before the boy started ranting. The child was completely obsessed with this other boy, and even though he constantly and consistantly stated that he hated him, the therapist had a hard time believing that.

"It'll be okay. You can do this--you know how people thing!" God, he loved his wife. She always knew just the right words to say. she was so down to Earth. He sighed.

"I don't know. He's a teenager--I _think_, but he's so God damned _smart _for his age....I don't know if I can keep this up, he's wearing me down," he said, rubbing between his eyes and spinning to face his desk, "I think after this case, I'm going to need some therapy of my own...." his wife chuckled.

"Look, honey, I know you can help him because you're just _that_ good. Besides, this is just another battle in your fight against insanity!" he smirked at that.

"Sure, sure," was his automatic response. He yawned.

"I'm serious here! Anyway, what's wrong with him anyway? Is he crazy like your other patients, or..." her sentence trailed off, and he winced at her choice of words. He preferred to call his 'patients' _clients_. It seemed more personal than thinking of them as patients to check up on. He continued to rub his brow.

"_Client,_ he's a _client_, baby, and I think he's just suffered some kind of emotional trauma. Hopefully this kid he's constantly talking about can help him through it, because so far I haven't been any help," he muttered bitterly and heard his wife sigh on the other end.

"You're lucky I'm here, you pessimist, you need an optimist in your life. Just breathe, focus, look at the positives. You can do this," she said, and he felt immediately reassured, even though two hours from now he'd be heading home to her with the same complaints. He knew she didn't mine. In a way she was his wife _and_ therapist, "You can do this," she was saying again, probably because of his silence, "you _have_ the technology," they both laughed at that, and he found himself admiring the view from his window again, somehow having turned his chair around subconsciously. It was the first signs of winter that were showing outside that made him a tiny bit hopeful. The first snowfall. Maybe this time around would be better.

Somehow he really doubted that.

"More like the know-how," he corrected, leaning back in his rolling chair and watching the snow drift down in small, slow flakes that seemed to be trying to fight their inevitable doom.

"That's more like it!" Just then, his phone rang on the other end. He sighed.

"I gotta go, baby," he said regretfully.

"That's okay, I'll see you in a little while," she responded, "Love you!"

"Love you too," he said, hanging up and switching lines, "Hello?" He was facing his desk again, his little pessimistic cloud coming back. He was shocked by the change in his voice from when he was talking to his wife to now.

"It's your seven o'clock. He's here," his secratary droned in a voice that bluntly stated, 'I don't care, I just want to get home.' He held in a sigh, knowing she would have this on speaker, and not wanting to offend the boy.

"Okay, send him in."

A few moments later, the door opened, and in stepped the boy with black hair.

* * *

**I'll let you decide for yourselves whether it was Zim or Dib! :'3 I liked doing this one, because it's looking at the Zim, Dib situation from some weird background character's point of view. Idk, if that makes any sense to you guys.**

**R & R, I survive off of the pure awesomeness that is your reviews!**

**Until next time! SufferingThePretences - Signing Out!  
**


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